


The Clothes Make the Man

by Quickspinner



Series: Let Me Forget the Sky [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickspinner/pseuds/Quickspinner
Summary: Starting over is nothing new to him, but it still doesn't come easy.Post-Tresspasser, in response to a prompt: "It looks good on you." No spoilers for LMFtS except what you'd already know from playing the game.





	

“Stop fidgeting,” Atisha said from where she perched on the inn’s small bed, taking up what little space wasn’t already occupied by snoring mabari. “It looks good on you.”

Cullen sighed. “I can't remember the last time I wasn't wearing some kind of uniform. It's...a little unsettling, to be honest. I feel…” He trailed off, looking at the reflection in the mirror. She was right, there was nothing wrong with the simple shirt, jacket, and trousers he wore. The clothes were of good quality, sturdy enough to hold up under Ferelden weather, but not fancy in any way. Yet his eyes couldn't help searching for some crest or symbol, something to tell him who he was supposed to be in this new beginning.

But the only clue he had was a passing resemblance to his father and a simple, unadorned golden band on his left hand. That much, at least, he felt sure of. Whatever else he was, or was meant to be, he was Atisha’s husband, and that at least gave him somewhere to start redefining himself--again.

He had made no protest when she disbanded the Inquisition; had made neither argument before nor accusation after, but he couldn't help but feel as if the rug had been pulled out from under him yet again. Cullen had thought he had come further than this but it turned out that he still defined himself so much be his position as to be lost without it. It made him angry at himself to be so unsettled by a simple suit of clothes.

Soft warmth settled against his back, one arm circling his chest from behind, and he smiled slightly, watching his wife’s face in the mirror as Atisha stood on her toes to prop her chin on his shoulder. “You are who you have always been,” she said in her quiet voice. “A protector. A good man who never stops trying to be better.” He turned his face toward her as she nuzzled his cheek. “Your family will not need a label to know their brother.”

Cullen turned from the mirror and gathered her to him. It was at her gentle prodding that he had finally shed the armor he'd been wearing their whole trip. It too was simple and unadorned, yet he felt far more like himself with the weight of it on his shoulders, a shield on his back and a sword at his hip. It was only here, about to face the family he hadn't seen in twenty years and three lifetimes, that he began to waver.

“I'm supposed to be the one worried here,” Atisha teased, leaning back in his arms to look at him. “I'm the heathen elven apostate who eloped with their brother.”

“They know what to expect from you,” he told her, serious despite her joking. “The person they expect me to be...doesn't exist any more.”

“Do you think them so unchanged, _emma_ _lath_? __The years have been difficult for everyone. How old was Rosalie when you left? Do you think to find her still in pigtails and pinafores?” She rested the remnant of her left arm on his, and brought her hand up to caress his face. “You will learn to know each other again, and love each other as you are now. That is what it means to be family.”

He nodded, knowing the truth of her words but feeling no more confident than he did before. “Ah,” he said, easing away from her. “I almost forgot, I have something for you.”

“For me?” she repeated, and Cullen grinned. He went over to their small collection of luggage and rummaged around until he found what he wanted, a soft, brown paper package, tied with twine.

“I had help,” he said, almost apologetically as he shooed Captain off the bed. “It's just that Leliana knows women’s fashions much better than I and she's familiar with Ferelden weather, so I knew she could help me find something.” The mabari whined but got down off the bed, circling around to sniff at the package as Cullen put it on the bed. “Not for you,” Cullen scolded with a smile, pushing (nudging, really) the great head away. Satisfied from the scent that it was true, Captain moved off to flop on his side in front of the fire.

“You bought me a dress?” Atisha said incredulously, coming to sit on the bed.

“Not exactly,” Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just...we'll go on, open it.”

Atisha raised an eyebrow but tugged at the knot, which came open easily. She shifted the paper aside and gasped softly as she saw the nearly folded pile of fabric, in a shade of deep blue that he'd always loved on her. She stroked the material with her fingertips, and lifted the edge to look at the thin band of embroidery. He wasn't about to tell her how much he had spent on this simple garment but she had to know that the embroidery at least was special order. No Orlesian tailor would embroider Ferelden hounds by choice.

“Here, stand up,” Cullen said, lifting the cloak from the bed and holding it out for her. She had taken to wearing a cloak or cape to deflect the stares at her missing arm, but nothing she had was heavy enough for the weather in South Reach. Atisha stood and came to him, and he draped the cloak carefully around her, fastening it so that it opened over her right side as she preferred. The hounds cavorted around the bottom hem, but the designs traveling up the cloak and around the hood were dragons, done in branching lines that harmonized with, but didn't outright mimic, the lines of her tattoos. He lifted the hood and settled it gently on her head. The deep blue set off her platinum hair and pale blue eyes exactly as he had hoped.

“It looks good on you,” was all he could say.

“Cullen,” she breathed, rubbing the material between her fingers, “This is beautiful. I'm almost afraid to wear it, it’ll be all over dirt and mud in a day.”

“Wear it anyway,” he told her. “I told Leliana it had to be practical and durable above all else. I'm afraid she gets all the credit for finding something that could do all that and still look this good.”

“But you thought to have her look for it,” Atisha said warmly, her smile all the reward he needed. “Thank you, Cullen. I don't deserve the care you take of me.” Her smile dimmed slightly, and he knew she was thinking about it again. With the Inquisition disbanded, she had nothing -- no wealth, little status, even no family now that she had left her clan, and while he felt that he owed her a debt he could never repay, she felt she was a burden to him. It was something Cullen knew they would have to work on, but that was a problem for another day.

“Well,” he said, trying to joke, “Now the only one of us left underdressed is Captain.”

Atisha grinned, pushing back the hood of her new cloak. “How funny you should say that. Look in that pack there.” She indicated one of her bags with her chin, and Cullen raised an eyebrow at her before going to dig through the bag. When he found what he was looking for he laughed outright.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“If you think it's a dog collar made from one of the Inquisition’s formal uniform jackets, you’re right,” Atisha giggled. “Although as Dagna made it for me, I'm sure there’s more to it than that. At any rate, now Captain can be all dressed up too. Proper rank insignia and everything.”

Cullen shook his head but he was still smiling as he went to Captain and buckled on his red and gold collar. “There you are,” he said to the hound. “Now look sharp. I expect you to be a credit to that uniform. And no matter where the treats come from tonight, remember who you report to. I'll have no defectors in my ranks!”

Captain barked and wagged his whole rump.

Cullen stood to find Atisha watching him with her hand over her mouth, not quite covering her smile. He went to her, drew her back into his arms and kissed her, softly and slowly and very, very thoroughly.

“We should go,” he said, drawing her hand through his arm. “I can't wait to introduce you.”

She smiled, and they made their way out of the only inn in South Reach, turning at last to a place he still thought of as home though he had never been there. Though the flutter in his stomach was still there, though his back still felt exposed and vulnerable without the weight of metal and leather, though he still feared what lay ahead of him, he had his wife pressed close to his side, his faithful Captain trotting at his heels, and a small smile on his face.


End file.
